


Hedonism: Not Just for Bobby Singer

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Disabled Character, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-28
Updated: 2009-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: Episode coda for 4.10 according to my notes, really this was an excuse for Pam.





	Hedonism: Not Just for Bobby Singer

She almost didn't let those two back into her house. It had been a stretch even heading out to deal with Anna Milton, but that was on Bobby's property and it was just supposed--supposed--to be a girl. And then, there was Pamela, getting fucked over by the Winchester boys one more time because it wasn't a girl, not at all, and she should have known.

But now she did. The Winchesters meant trouble and she shouldn't have let them in. But she felt something in the air that morning, felt something pulling at all of her senses for hours, and she didn't know what it was until Sam was at her doorstep with Dean standing behind him with the ether practically pulsing. Dammit, Grumpy, she thought, only a defensive reflex because grumpy wasn't what he was but it kept her from thinking too hard about why his energy felt as strong as hers did, stronger even.

That couldn't be going anywhere good, either, not with a host of demons and angels tailing him. Tailing them. 

Dean was simpler, except for how he wasn't. Out of hell, for fuck's sake. Out of hell.

She should never have let them in.

The ether buzzed and Sam was smiling as he murmured low, "Listen, we wanted to make it up to you, I mean... What happened with Anna. Not the-- I mean we--"

"You two boys are a little too fond of pyrotechnics to apologize for my eyes, aren't you?" she asked, prickly and smooth all at once, pushing in on his space even as her words, her thoughts, said get the fuck rid of these people oh God but then she laughed, her half-happy-go-lucky, half-self-deprecating laugh because if she didn't laugh she'd be doing other things and this was life now, and if God was listening Pamela Barnes had lived through enough to prove she shouldn't want him to.

"We just--um..." Sam started.

"You always do so well with the ladies, Sammy," Dean cut in with a quip worn so thin for Sam she could practically see it.

But she didn't call either of them on anything. She was momentarily distracted as a flicker of something crossed her awareness. Something someone said to Dean once that bubbled up into the ether... Mask all that nasty pain... and she knew it'd never been more true than right then, even if he didn't know. From the way his energy was so tamped down Pamela was pretty sure he didn't usually know. She felt her wariness melting into concern.

"We... well... The road's catching up with us," Sam said. "And Dean needs a little down-time." Pam wondered if he knew how his voice went husky with the words. These two were a head trip, even if he was right.

The tension in the room escalated, picked up the barest edge and then she heard Sam cross to Dean, felt the press of two energies together which means they have to be touching, high up where their heads must be. She imagines Sam's hands coming to rest on Dean's shoulders, fingers rubbing gently over his neck and his shoulder over the brand of the handprint on Dean's skin. Dean was carrying so much tension that when she heard it leave him then in an audible rush.

"Told you we needed to slow down," Sam said, speaking in his brother's direction.

"Yeah, well for your information--"

"You're no good to fight in the apocalypse if you run yourself ragged, Dean,"

Pamela sighed. "You two. I thought you were here to make something up to me."

"We are," Sam said.

"Well. Then I think I might be in charge of who needs what."

The boys shifted uncomfortably in front of her and she laughed. "Don't worry, Sam, I know the score with you two. Believe me, I know the score." She let them sit uncomfortably with that for just long enough. "And I also know that you, Dean, need to let go, honey."

Dean was silent but mutinous before her, the air thick with it.

"I know you two--"

"Yeah, you know, you know. Well then you know I'm not-- I don't--"

"What he means is," Sam said smoothly, "That's something he only does... with me."

"Sam--! Why'd you gotta encourage her when she's pulling crap out of my head?"

"Because she knows that too," Sam said, voice firm as he added, "She knows you're mine."

That word quieted Dean again, and both boys relaxed, boundaries well-established.

"But today, because you're mine," Sam continued, "you're going to take five from the hunt like you used to--"

Dean's energy was full of muted anger again. "Sam!"

"--and you're going to let me share you."

"Thank you, Grumpy. That means a lot," she said. "That's definitely a way to make it up to me."

She led them into her bedroom. She only needed to put her hands out once to catch the door frame and neither boy got in her way or offered help she didn't need. This was her territory and negotiations had been executed swimmingly.

Their footfalls behind her told her that Sam was still behind Dean, propelling him, gentle and in control. She heard a duffle being shrugged off onto the floor and she smiled sardonically.

"You knew what you were doing, didn't you?"

"You made us an offer once," he said. "You made an offer to Dean. And you've always been good to us, Pamela, more than good."

She sat down in the chair across from her bed and mulled that over, the etheric buzz muted somewhat by the warm weight of his words, the way she knew that he believed them.

She would never give up this psychic gig, even if she could.

"Well let's take care of him, then," she murmured, and she felt Sam smiling again, felt his inner light flare.

"Strip," Sam told Dean, and Dean did--shirt swooshing over his head, belt clinking open, fly zipping down. "Tell her what you're doing."

"Dude--she's--she can hear me."

"Tell her."

"Shirt... pants..."

"Boots still on," Pamela said and smiled wide, "Kinky, boys."

"Those too," Sam said, and two thuds came next, the pants making their way all the way off soon after.

"Boots," Dean said.

"Okay, kids, the cliffs notes are all right, I really can hear just fine. That's a lot of the fun, you know."

There was a brief silence, the two of them conferring, and Sam answered.

"Got it."

"Now, when your hands are on his dick, that I might wanna hear you say. Just for fun."

The energy in the room flared and settled and Sam let out a nervous laugh that didn't really belong in a man like him anymore but the point was made.

She heard the bed squeak, felt the amazingly white-hot energy of Sam Winchester settle over his brother, kissing down his neck, down his back in little bursts and Dean made noises like they were being dragged out of him. She knew he didn't want to do this, not like this. He had so many reasons not to, but he was with Sam and they were in role. There was no denying his brother anything, especially not when it made Dean feel so, so goddamn good.

She didn't see but she could feel--first the surges in the ether, and then the plain sexual energy as it rose. Sam pulled some things up from his duffle and Pam heard a condom wrapper rip open. Sam kissed Dean again, and then did something else that turned Dean's soft moans a little sharper (teeth, it was teeth) and then Dean was shifting on the bed, and Sam's energy flared again. "Good. That's good. You're going to take this from me now, Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy, yeah," The squirming from the bed was louder now, and Dean's thoughts, his energy, weren't as easy to track as he became lost in Sam. Pamela forced her thoughts away from the impossible glow of Sam's energy and just rode the waves of sound, of lust, of heat. The sound of Dean rocking up into Sam's dick, a sharp slap to his ass and the cry that followed. The palpable pulse of need, of desire, of protection.

Pamela shifted in her chair, rocking a little against the knuckles of her hand through her clothes, letting the sensation build and then recede, build and then recede, gentle but insistent. It was just enough. They were close, both of them, and right now, without her hands, her lips, her tongue on them, she needed to ride the waves of ether, she needed to have some semblance of--

The energy--Sam's energy--flared again, as if in answer to her thoughts, or her presence. He thrust harder into Dean and Dean moaned, "Jesus, fuck, Sammy," and Sam thrust hard and fast again and one more time, each punctuated with a near-shout, and dammit...dammit...she should have been more focused on-- she wanted to come, she wanted to be--

"Mmmm...god," Sam was saying. and she heard the flop of bodies against the mattress "Better?"

"...Fuck, yeah," Dean said, the smile clear in his voice.

"Good," Sam whispered.

His voice shifted in her direction, a smile in his voice too. "He's better, but he isn't done. You gonna take me up on sharing?" he asked, and the rush of sensation through her body was answer enough, but she nodded.

There was another flare and Sam's words came loose and easy like he was grinning wide, "He's got this amazing dildo he likes... if you want to try..."

And this was not how Pamela Barnes thought she would be spending her Thursday, but then it wasn't every day two Winchesters showed up on her doorstep, and they had no intention of letting her forget it.


End file.
